2414: Stranger Things

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I watched the first episode of a new Netflix show people have been raving about recently: Stranger Things. I came away very impressed with the whole thing.

Stranger Things is set in 1980s small-town America and appears to have been shot to bear more than a passing resemblance to a 1980s movie. Coming off the back of Turbo Kid, this is something that appealed a great deal to me, and it was interesting to compare how the two works approached it. While Turbo Kid took the extremely graphic approach of violent action movies of the era, Stranger Things’ first episode felt a little more like a somewhat more family-friendly movie — perhaps a PG or a 12 at most. Any violent aspects were de-emphasised in favour of depictions of close friendships between children, the adventurous souls that many ’80s kids had (partly as a result of the awesome movies we had to enjoy) and the dysfunctional nature of many nuclear families.

Stranger Things’ first episode centred around the disappearance of a young boy who had… something happen to him on his way home from a game of Dungeons and Dragons with his friends. His sudden disappearance allows us the opportunity to meet his single mother and older brother as well as the more traditional (albeit extremely dysfunctional) family of one of his friends as they struggle to determine what happened to him. The local police force also gets involved, and in true small-town ’80s America movie tradition, they’re all seemingly lazy and incompetent, but buck their ideas up sharpish when something genuinely serious finally happens in this sleepy little town.

There’s also a touch of high school drama through the older sister of one of the central kids, who has just begun a relationship with a boy who appears to be one of the “cool” kids. In true ’80s movie tradition, their relationship revolves a lot around seeing one another in secret, even though many people — including her younger brother — know exactly what they’re up to. And there’s a strong sense that the boyfriend is very much the sexual “aggressor” in their relationship, for want of a better word, while the sister Nancy herself is keen not to get distracted from her studies; again, this is typical of ’80s movies, which often had not-so-well-hidden messages of abstinence buried in them.

And on top of all that, there’s a mysterious organisation of scientists, because there was always a mysterious organisation of scientists in ’80s movies, and some sort of weird, possibly otherworldly biological horror. And a girl with apparent telekinetic powers who escaped from their clutches.

It felt like Stranger Things was trying to cram as many ’80s movie tropes as possible into its 50-minute first episode — almost too many — but it managed to do so without buckling under its own weight, and without being too self-conscious or self-referential about it. What it ended up being was a remarkably authentic-feeling slice of ’80s nostalgia that offered enough intriguing little plot threads to make me very keen to see what happened next. It never felt over the top or overt with its ’80s references; it was just when it was set, and everything about it supported that setting, right down to the fact it looks like it was shot on film rather than video.

I’m looking forward to seeing where the show develops from its strong first episode. I’m expecting great things. Strange things, even.

2384: Turbo Kid: The Best ’80s Movie That Wasn’t Made in the ’80s

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After repeated exhortations of extremely enthusiastic approval from my friend Tom, I decided to watch the movie Turbo Kid this evening on Netflix. I was not disappointed.

Turbo Kid is a study in contradictions. It’s a movie that is a perfect recreation of 1980s action flicks, but it was made in 2015. It’s not a comedy, but it’s hilarious. It is, at heart, simplistic and straightforward, but nonetheless compelling and thought-provoking. More than anything, though, it’s terrible, but it’s stunningly brilliant.

Turbo Kid is set in the apocalyptic far-off future wastelands of the year 1997, where some awful disaster that isn’t really explained (but was probably something to do with the Cold War and/or robots) has turned everything to shit. Our story centres around a nameless young boy, known only as The Kid, who was orphaned early in the post-apocalyptic period, but who has, against all odds, managed to survive in the wasteland through scavenging and keeping his childish hopes and dreams alive through vintage comics about his favourite superhero, Turbo Rider.

Early in the movie, The Kid meets Apple, who initially seems to be a charmingly dimwitted young girl, but subsequently is revealed to be a robot, because ’80s movie. Apple is dying thanks to getting hit in a skirmish, and The Kid, who after some initial reluctance to even be around her having been alone for so long, agrees to help her find some replacement parts before her “heart gauge” (rather beautifully depicted in Zelda-style pixel art on an embedded display in her wrist) runs out and she deactivates forever.

I’ll spare you the rest of the details, but suffice to say, The Kid finds himself taking on the role of Turbo Rider to the best of his capabilities, and there are plenty of ridiculous action scenes along the way, not to mention a particularly loathsome villain in the form of self-appointed wasteland baron “Zeus” — who of course has a connection with The Kid, because ’80s movie.

I was reading an article in a GamePro from a couple of years ago the other day, and someone — I forget who offhand, but I think it was someone like Tim Schafer or his ilk — made the very good point that the best comedy is made of juxtapositions, most commonly the juxtaposition of serious words with silly visuals, or vice-versa. Turbo Kid is pretty much entirely designed around this philosophy: it takes itself very seriously and never, at any point, winks knowingly at the audience to go “DIDYA SEE THAT?!”. Instead, it makes use of the exact same techniques ’80s action movies did to juxtapose the ridiculous with the deadly serious: terrible, extremely obvious special effects; excessive amounts of blood and gore; unnecessary swearing at the most bizarre moments; but, at heart, a rather touching story of a kid who realises he doesn’t want to be alone in the world any more.

Of particular note is the blood and gore, of which there is lots, but it’s so insanely exaggerated — again, like the best worst ’80s action flicks — that it’s impossible to feel grossed out by it. In one scene, a man gets his face thrust into the spinning blades of a blender. In another, someone gets his guts pulled out by them being attached to the back wheel of a bicycle (in this particular post-apocalyptic future, everyone rides pedal bikes — which sort of makes sense, when you think about it, as fuel would eventually run out). In the climactic battle scene, the dismembered torso and legs of two other enemy grunts become firmly lodged on the head of a third enemy. And, of course, Turbo Rider/Kid’s unique gadget is a device on his wrist that immediately causes anyone it is pointed at to explode into a fine red paste.

Turbo Kid really benefits from being written and constructed as an ’80s action flick, without any fourth wall-breaking self-awareness going on. In being designed this way, it provides commentary on how desensitised to violence we are these days — many of the more gory scenes in the film would likely have got the movie banned as a “video nasty” back in the ’80s — while at the same time pointing out how far popular culture has supposedly come in the last 30+ years. Or you can look at it another way: it can be interpreted as a fond look back at the ’80s, when not all entertainment was expected to have some sort of socially aware “message” behind it (with the possible exception of children’s cartoons, which tended to lampshade these messages extremely obviously) and it could sometimes just be about many boys’ childish fantasies: the ability to point at a bad guy and have them explode into goo.

If you have an hour and a half to spare, then, be sure to check out Turbo Kid on Netflix. If you grew up in the ’80s and/or you enjoyed Far Cry: Blood Dragon (which is a similarly hilarious but loving homage to the more ridiculous side of ’80s popular media), you will very much appreciate what it has to offer.

2371: Bad Education

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My favourite thing about Netflix is the fact that it allows you to try out various series that you might not have thought to take a look at when they were on TV, nor do you feel inclined to go and pick up a DVD or Blu-Ray of them, but which nonetheless intrigued you for one reason or another. Because you’re not paying for the series itself — it’s just part of your Netflix subscription — you can try things out, and if they’re shit, well, you just stop watching them; and if they’re good, you can enjoy them to your heart’s content on your own terms.

Such was the case with Bad Education, a show originally broadcast on BBC Three. Something being broadcast on BBC Three is more often than not an immediate signal that it’s going to be shit, but since I’ve always had a certain affinity for media of any kind — books, games, films, TV series, anime, visual novels — set in a school environment, I was very much curious about it. And I’ve been pleased to discover that it’s actually not shit. It’s actually some pretty solid — and unabashedly offensive — situation comedy, albeit almost totally divorced from the reality of working in education.

Jack Whitehall stars as Alfie Wickers, an incompetent History teacher who seems rather more concerned with being friends with his (unrealistically small!) form group than actually doing his job properly. Nonetheless, he does care about the kids’ education in his own way, with many of his escapades concluding in some sort of life lesson being learned by them — or, more frequently, by him.

Alfie’s class is probably the highlight of the show, because it’s the most believable, realistic part of it, miniscule size aside. Speaking from the perspective of a former teacher, I can say with confidence that they’re the very picture of the class that every school has who are a bit shit at everything — apart from one extremely clever student, whose very presence at a school as shit as that seems completely out of place — but you can’t help but like. They remind me very much of class 9VN that I taught in the first school I worked in; for the first few weeks, I thought they were complete shitheads and would never get anything done with them, so appalling was their behaviour and attitude towards Music lessons… and then we discovered that they had a curious affinity for singing songs from musicals. So that’s what we did. Or rather, that’s what most of them did, while I set the few kids who were actually interested in studying music at GCSE and beyond to some other assignments. The class as a whole ended up being one of the few I actually look back on with a certain degree of fondness.

As for the show itself, it’s very much a comedy with a certain degree of surrealism to it. In the second season in particular, it reminds me very much of the gloriously bizarre Green Wing, especially due to the presence of Michelle Gomez, who was also in Green Wing and plays pretty much the exact same character in Bad Education. Its seeming homage to Green Wing is emphasised through chaotic, time-distorted interstitial scenes with heavy visual filters on them to denote the passing of time or the simple division between story beats in the episode — though this only really becomes a thing in the second series, where the show as a whole seems to have a much stronger sense of its identity and what it’s trying to do.

The supporting cast is solid, too. Matthew Horne’s woefully terrible (and “banter”-obsessed) headmaster Fra$er [sic] is cringeworthy in the extreme in a sort of David Brent manner, but somehow just manages to stay the right side of believable within the context of the show. Harry Enfield is excellent as Alfie’s father. And Sarah Solemani’s portrayal of Wickers’ love interest Rosie Gulliver brings a much-needed “straight man” to the proceedings, though her characterisation is a bit meandering — in particular, her short-lived dalliance with a lesbian side-plot doesn’t really go anywhere, and the show subsequently returns to the admittedly solid foundation of the “will they, won’t they” relationship between her and Alfie that has been the basis of many a successful sitcom over the years.

Bad Education isn’t the best show on television by a long shot, but it’s laugh out loud funny, well cast and snappily written. For a BBC Three show, it’s god-tier. For something you just want to whack on while you veg out in front of the television, it’s solid. As a scathing critique of the modern educational system in the UK, you may want to look elsewhere!

2020: Original Content

I’ve been watching a fair bit of Netflix’s original content lately. I’ll freely admit that I’d been resistant to the idea of an online service’s exclusive content through irrational prejudices, but I’m pleased to have been proven very, very wrong indeed.

Let me explain those irrational prejudices first.

I grew up in a bit of a golden era of TV, full of popular shows ranging from Friends to Star Trek: The Next Generation via Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel. These shows ran for a long time, attracted passionate fanbases and, in many cases, were big-budget productions that put out some impressive stuff on a week-by-week basis. Conversely, in the early days of Internet video, Internet video series tended to be done on the cheap; there’s nothing wrong with that per se, of course, but that cheapness didn’t just extend to production values — it also extended to quality of talent in all aspects of the production. A side-effect of the whole “suddenly everyone is a content creator” aspect of Web 2.0 or 3.0 or whatever it is we’re on now.

So, then, I didn’t make much of a habit of watching regular Internet video series for quite some time. To this day, there are very few YouTube series that I follow, and I generally preferred to grab a DVD or Blu-Ray box set of a favourite TV series and binge-watch it over the course of a month or two. No waiting for new episodes, no having to watch according to someone else’s schedule — just literally content on demand.

With my lack of involvement in Internet video, then, I maintained the assumption that Internet-exclusive video would be cheap, shitty productions that weren’t really worth bothering with. I even continued with this assumption as people started praising Netflix’s first original series House of Cards — largely because the subject matter didn’t really interest me — but just recently, I’ve finally come around to it, and I’m impressed.

The two shows that have made me a believer in Internet-exclusive content and convinced me that Netflix is absolutely a contender in the original TV programming department are Bojack Horseman and Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. I watched both on the recommendations of other people, and both have been highly enjoyable, not to mention well up to the standard of the stuff you get on TV or in DVD box sets.

Bojack Horseman is an animated show about a washed-up ’90s sitcom veteran who just happens to be a horse-man. Not like a centaur, he’s just literally a dude with a horse’s head. Over the course of Bojack Horseman, we’re introduced to a number of different characters, some of whom are regular human beings and others of whom are, like Bojack himself, anthropomorphised animals. This is a wonderful source of comedy: for the most part, the animal people act just like normal humans, but just occasionally — just often enough to be funny without feeling like a forced joke — they’ll exhibit some sort of behaviour that their animal counterpart would do.

Bojack Horseman isn’t just cheap laughs, though. It’s one of those “adult animation” shows that looks ridiculous and silly on the outside, but which has a heart underneath. Bojack is a deeply flawed yet somewhat sympathetic character struggling to come to terms with the fact that he 1) isn’t as famous as he used to be and 2) might actually be a horrible person. The series explores his character in great detail — partly through the eyes of his biographer Diane — and we learn a great deal about him. He’s certainly much more than — and I’m sorry — a one-trick pony.

Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, meanwhile, is a live action show from the pen of Tina Fey. It concerns a young woman who was kidnapped and kept underground for fifteen years by a ne’er-do-well claiming to be a “Reverend” saving them from the Apocalypse. Since Kimmy was kept sheltered from all of existence for these fifteen years, she knows pretty much nothing about how the world works, and gets into numerous entertaining misadventures in New York as a result.

Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, like Fey’s other work, is sharp, quick witted and frequently scathing. Kimmy is lovably naive without being irritatingly stupid, and the supporting characters are all strong in their own right — albeit often being somewhat exaggerated caricatures. It’s a show in which not a great deal actually happens from one episode to another, but the whole thing has a ton of heart and soul to it, and the entire story arc is nicely and neatly wrapped up by the end of the run. I wouldn’t be averse to another season of it, but the beauty of it as it exists right now is that it doesn’t really need one, since it’s told Kimmy’s story pretty much from start to finish over the course of 13 episodes.

And that’s sort of the beauty of what Netflix is able to do here. Without the pressure from networks and advertising, the teams coming up with this stuff have a lot more freedom than they would if they were composing for traditional television. This, in turn, allows them to be a lot more experimental, daring and interesting with what they’re coming out with, and we’re already starting to see what a positive effect that has on output.

I’m over my prejudice towards Internet-exclusives, then — though a ton of YouTube-exclusive stuff is still a load of old wank — and am now much more inclined to check out Netflix’s original content than I would previously have been. I’m sure there’ll be plenty more of Bojack Horseman and Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt’s calibre in the future, and I’m looking forward to watching them when they appear.

1997: Chromecast Initial Impressions

Picked up a Chromecast today, Google’s little HDMI dongle that you can plug into your TV (assuming you have an HDMI socket) and stream stuff from your phone, tablet or computer to. Andie and I had been thinking about getting one for a while — primarily so if we want to watch TV at night we’re not forced to suffer Dave’s endless reruns any longer — but hadn’t got around to it. Finding myself at a loose end today, I went and forked over £30 (they’re the same price wherever you go, which is nice) to pick one up.

Setting it up was pleasantly simple. It was a matter of going to the Chromecast site on my phone, which subsequently redirected me to Google Play to download the Chromecast app. (I could have skipped that first step if I’d known there was an app involved.) The Chromecast app then walked me through the process of setting it up — a process which took about two minutes, the most complicated part of which was going downstairs to find out what the Wi-Fi password was — and it was then ready to go.

Using it is pretty easy, too. There are several ways you can use it: certain apps such as Netflix, YouTube and Crunchyroll (the three sites where I watch most of my videos these days) support Chromecast natively and effectively allow you to use your phone, tablet or computer as a “remote” and beam the video directly to the TV; other services effectively “mirror” what’s on your device to the TV, and via the Chromecast app itself (or natively in your phone’s OS if it’s one of the relatively small selection of phones that support it) you can mirror your whole phone’s screen and sound to the TV. (This latter option is perhaps less practical than it sounds; it’s no good for gaming, for example, as there’s a noticeable lag of a second or two between doing something on the phone and it happening on the screen, but then it probably wasn’t really designed for that.)

Alongside getting the Chromecast set up, I finally also set up Unblock Us on my phone. Unblock Us is a service that allows you to “trick” sites such as Netflix, Crunchyroll and the like into thinking you’re in a different territory to where you actually are. The reason why this is useful is that different territories have different stuff available — Netflix’s American version, for example, has a bigger selection than its British counterpart, though the later has improved significantly over time. It was a bit of a faff to set up on the phone, because you have to set up IP addresses manually rather than simply downloading a little applet to sort it all out for you (which is how you do it on a computer) but once I managed to find the right combination of numbers to put into the various slots on the form, I was happily streaming Bojack Horseman to my TV via my phone.

I’m really impressed so far. The picture quality is excellent and the streaming seems to be reliable, even though our Wi-Fi signal isn’t all that strong upstairs. It’s definitely going to fulfil our desire for streaming video in our bedroom, and for those of you with a slightly older, non-Smart HDTV, it’s a cheap and effective means of getting most of the benefits of a newer unit without having to break the bank or find a space for a 55-inch behemoth.

Thumbs up to Chromecast, then. Looking forward to playing with it some more.

1904: 21st Century TV

The Internet has brought with it many things both good and bad, but by far my favourite thing about it is to do with video.

No, I’m not talking about YouTube generally — the whole “anyone with a webcam can make videos!” culture it promotes feeds into modern youth’s unhealthy obsession with “being famous” — but rather the fact that, between the various streaming services out there, both legitimate and… less legitimate, there is probably some way of watching all those programmes/adverts/movies you wish you still had 1) the VHS tapes for and 2) something to play them with.

This last week, for example, Andie and I have watched Police Squad!, the TV-based precursor to the Naked Gun movies. Only six episodes were made, and back at university, when I “discovered” the show for the first time, I had a VHS cassette with two of them on it, so I had only ever seen those two episodes. Now, however, some helpful Polish person has kindly uploaded the whole lot onto YouTube for anyone to enjoy at their leisure. No waiting for TV networks to license them and show them again. No tracking down video tapes and VCRs. Just click and go.

The ability to rediscover old favourites is one of the best things about streaming video, then, as my rewatch of Star Trek: The Next Generation for the first time in about ten years will attest. But the fact that streaming services makes new favourites easier than ever to discover, too, is rather wonderful. I doubt I’d have become so interested in anime without my Crunchyroll subscription, for example; prior to widespread streaming video, the only real way to get into anime was to buy VHS tapes or DVDs, and with anime being niche-interest and somewhat “exotic”, particularly when it first hit these shores in the mid-90s, it was a rather expensive hobby. Anime DVDs and Blu-Rays still cost up to twice as much as a regular ol’ Western film even today, making online services like Crunchyroll much better value.

This is the TV of the 21st century, then; it really is the vision of the future we had twenty, thirty years ago: decide what you want to watch, then just watch it. In most cases, that’s possible to do, even if you have strange, bizarre and peculiar tastes. And even if you’re more fucked up than most, I can almost guarantee that there’s some dark corner of the Internet out there somewhere more than willing to cater to your particular interests, whatever they might be… for better or worse.

In these days of people seemingly constantly yelling at one another on social media and comments sections on large sites being widely (and, sometimes, justifiably) regarded as fetid cesspits, it’s easy to forget the great and wonderful things that the Internet has brought to modern life. I’m a strong believer that its ability to “archive” — for future generations to be able to enjoy movies, TV shows, animations and other videos from years ago — is one of the best things about it. And as technology improves and we find more and more ways to interact with this world-wide network, I hope we never lose sight of these simple pleasures that it’s allowed us to enjoy like never before.

1839: These Are the Voyages

Andie and I have been watching Star Trek: The Next Generation recently. We started watching from the very beginning (yes, even the dodgy early ones) a while back, but picked it up again recently. I’ve been delighted to discover 1) how well it holds up after all these years and 2) how many of the individual episodes I’ve forgotten about.

I mean, sure, I still remember particularly noteworthy episodes such as any involving Q, Data or the Borg, but I’m finding the episodes in between to be almost as if they’re brand new to me. This is a good thing.

One of the big strengths of Star Trek: The Next Generation — and, indeed, many of the other Star Trek series — is the amount of variety there is between the different episodes. One week there might be an action-packed adventure with lots of space combat, zappy phasers and horrible alien monsters; the next there might be something like the one we watched this evening, which was skin-crawlingly creepy without veering into full-on horror; the next still there might be something that proves to be a genuinely emotional tearjerker.

Part of this variety comes from the fact that the series’ setting has the whole universe to play with; any time things are getting boring, they can just warp the show to another part of the galaxy and bring in another alien race with their own quirks, variations on the “bumpy forehead” look and even, in some cases, languages. There are recurring cultures that have been around since the original ’60s series, of course: the classic Klingons, the insidious Romulans, the devious Cardassians and the proud Vulcans all make numerous appearances. And there are new recurring cultures that have been introduced by The Next Generation: the empathic Betazoids, the symbiotic Trill (explored in considerably more depth in the follow-up series Deep Space Nine) and the deeply spiritual Bajorans (likewise), to name but three. And, of course, the rather upsetting Borg, who remain just as chilling as they did the first time they graced our screens with their biomechanical nature and curious, cube-shaped ships.

This aspect of Star Trek at large is one thing that the ambitious but flawed online RPG Star Trek Online didn’t quite get right, despite doing a lot of other things very well indeed. That variety just wasn’t there, though it was at least partly due to gameplay constraints rather than an unwillingness to be true to the source material. It’s difficult — though not, as we’ve seen on several occasions, impossible — to make a compelling diplomacy simulator, for example; it’s much more fun to give players control of a heavily armed starship and invite them to blow seven shades of snot out of anything that dares to cross their firing arc. (Star Trek Online’s space combat is one hell of a lot of fun, if you’ve never tried it; while it’s true Star Trek feel may be a little questionable, there’s no denying that it’s a fantastically enjoyable space game, pure and simple.)

So, to get back on point: I’ve been enjoying Star Trek: The Next Generation very much indeed, and when the time comes I’m looking forward to revisiting both Deep Space Nine and Voyager and watching them both through to their conclusions — something I’ve never done. Yes, even as someone who would consider himself a bit of a Trekkie/Trekker/whatever you want to call it, I’ve never seen Deep Space Nine beyond the fifth season, and I’ve never seen Voyager beyond I think the third season. While I know the latter in particular is nowhere near as fondly regarded as its two predecessors, I’m curious to finally explore the entire universe in full detail, and thanks to Netflix, I can now do just that without filling up an entire bookcase with VHS tapes.

1502: The Only Shortcut That Matters

Looking for something to watch over breakfast the other day, I decided I’d check out Ricky Gervais’ latest work Derek. I was expecting Gervais’ usual brand of “cringe comedy” exemplified by The Office and Extras — perhaps with additional cringe factor thanks to the character he was portraying — and not anything special. Over the course of the show’s few episodes, though, I was very pleasantly surprised to find what is, without a doubt, Gervais’ finest work to date — and not just from a comedic perspective.

Derek, lest you’re unfamiliar, centres around Gervais’ titular character, a middle-aged guy who may or may not be autistic and who works in a nursing home. Joining him in the main cast are his friends Dougie the caretaker (Karl Pilkington essentially playing himself) and Kevin the unemployed, along with Hannah — the manager of the nursing home — and the various old folks who they take care of together.

It’s one of those shows in which not a whole lot happens, yet what does happen always feels meaningful. In keeping with Gervais’ previous shows, it’s presented in “docudrama” format, with candid footage interspersed with talking head shots from Derek and the gang reflecting on what’s been happening. Over the course of the series, we get to know Derek and his friends extremely well, seeing them through both happy times and sad ones.

Derek is unsurprisingly the highlight of the show, initially appearing to be a bumbling, gurning simpleton but occasionally showing flickers of sharp wit — such as the sequence where he makes Kevin explain a dirty joke to him until it’s not funny any more, then explains to the camera afterwards that he did get it really, he just pretends not to because he knows it annoys Kevin.

More than wit, though, Derek is in possession of an incredibly compassionate soul — and he’s not the only one. Hannah is described by several characters as only caring about the happiness of others, even at the expense of her own, and she constantly wrestles with the path her life has taken, wondering if she might have done things differently if she hadn’t dropped out of school early. There’s a particularly awkward scene where one of her former peers at school shows up to bring her mother in to the home, but Hannah comes off best out of the whole exchange by the simple virtue of not having alienated everyone around her.

It’s an incredibly touching, moving show throughout — and not just at the times when one of the elderly residents of the nursing home passes on. There’s at least one moment in every episode where something very simple but utterly profound happens, and it moved me to tears on more than one occasion. The last episode in particular, in which a long-term resident of the home finally passes on and causes all of the cast to reflect on their respective life situations, is both heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time — particularly when we see the normally gruff, “laddish” Kevin break down in tears as he comes to the realisation that Derek “took the only shortcut that matters: kindness.”

Critics of the show have called it transparently emotionally manipulative, and perhaps it is — the liberal use of Coldplay on the soundtrack is testament to that — but personally I’m not sure there’s anything all that wrong with that. In Derek, Gervais has written an unusual but admirable character whom we could all do to observe the positive traits of; he’s also crafted a show that is enjoyable, eye-opening and which encapsulates the philosophy of “don’t judge a book by its cover” very neatly. It’s well worth a watch — just have the tissues handy.

#oneaday Day 956: Knope

The great thing about Netflix — and the reason I was immensely joyful when it finally made its way to the UK — is that you can “take a chance” on TV shows you’ve never seen before without having to shell out for a DVD box set. (I realised the other day that I can’t remember the last time I bought a DVD. I’m not sure I will ever again, to be honest.) Trying out a new show is a simple matter of spotting it, clicking on it and giving it a shot for a few episodes to see if you like it.

So it was that I found myself starting to watch Parks & Recreation. I knew literally nothing about this show before I started watching it, so it was with total beginner’s mind that I jumped in.

Initially, I wasn’t quite sure what to think. It had that slightly awkward “comedy drama” feeling about it where you’re not quite sure if you’re supposed to laugh or not. I’m not a massive fan of laugh tracks these days — it’s funny to think that they used to be a fixture on popular shows — but sometimes it’s nice to have a cue as to when it’s “okay” to laugh.

After a little while, though, I started to “get” what the show was doing. I was supposed to feel awkward and uncomfortable. I hadn’t immediately twigged that the show was going for a The Office sort of vibe, but when I started watching it in that mindset, it became immediately a whole lot better. Since the first season, the show has seemingly successfully distinguished itself from The Office despite retaining the “docudrama” format. What this means in practice is that the characters in the show are free to break the fourth wall, address the camera and do lots of things that you otherwise wouldn’t be able to do in a more traditionally-shot show. At the same time, though, the format is somewhat subverted on occasion by characters doing “talking head” shots explaining what’s really going on in a scene and then being lambasted by another character who can hear what they’re going on about.

The show’s biggest strength is in these characters. Amy Poehler’s Leslie Knope is a strong lead, and her straight-laced nature is the perfect foil to the colourful, exaggerated characters that are her colleagues in the Parks and Rec department. It also means that when she does do something amusing, it has more impact.

Highlight of the show is clearly Ron-freakin’-Swanson, a mustachio’d gent who hired sullen summer intern April not for her secretarial skills, but for her total incompetence at dealing with other people, meaning that he never has to do any work. Frequently, we’ll see Ron in his office carving wood, weaving baskets or, in one memorable scene, using a typewriter he restored to “type every word I know”. Anything but work.

Not all of the characters are exaggerated caricatures, however. Rashida Jones’ Ann is another character whose understated, human performance inspires viewers to relate to and empathise with her. The way she uses casual idioms like “Dude…!” when talking to people gives her a very “real” feel, and her relative normality actually makes her stand out amid the rest of the cast.

To cut a long story short, despite thinking I was probably only going to watch a few episodes of the show, I’m now halfway through the third season with no intention of stopping. I’ve enjoyed it a great deal so far, and am looking forward to seeing more. If you haven’t checked it out before and are a fan of the awkward, slightly cringeworthy comedy of shows like The Office (particularly the original Ricky Gervais version) then you’ll find it an absolute hoot, I’m sure.

#oneaday Day 915: No, I Haven’t Seen [Insert Movie Name Here]

I haven’t seen The Dark Knight Rises yet. I’m probably not going to. I also didn’t see that new Spider-Man movie, The Avengers or any of the other films that people have been going apeshit over in recent months. (And, it has to be said, being extremely tiresome about. So you enjoyed The Avengers? Great. I don’t need to be kept up to date on how many times you’ve seen it. Also, quit retweeting your friends’ Foursquare checkins of when they go to see it. No-one cares.) (Sorry. Apparently I am grumpy tonight. Disregard all of that. A bit.)

I just can’t “do” movies. It’s not through a lack of attention span — I can happily sit and play a game, read a book or dick around on the Internet for hours and hours and hours — but I just find it impossible to sit down and watch a movie any more. There’s always a lingering sensation at the back of my mind that I’d rather spend two hours doing something — anything — else.

Actually, that’s true of watching movies at home. I sold most of my DVDs to Music Magpie a while back and I haven’t missed them since. I have a Netflix account on which I haven’t watched any movies (though I have more than got my money’s worth from all the TV shows on there). The idea of watching a movie at home is just… no. I don’t want to do it.

Going to the cinema is a marginally more appealing prospect because of all the associated “other stuff” that goes with it. Comfy seats, a nice dark room with a big screen and impressive sound system, a bucket of popcorn which looks like it will last forever (but inevitably only lasts until the end of the trailers) and an opportunity to Do Something With Your Friends. (Of course, that Something is sitting in a darkened room, in silence, in a straight line so it is impossible to talk to each other, so you might as well be there by yourself.)

But then at the cinema you have to deal with shite you don’t have to put up with at home. The scrotes who sit behind you and jiggle your seat with their feet. People who can’t eat quietly. People who won’t shut up. People who won’t put their bastard mobile phone away for five seconds. (I hate these people on planes, too.) People who think everything that isn’t funny is absolutely, massively, hilariously funny and turn a serious scene into some sort of farce with a laugh track.

None of these things represent specific reasons that I don’t want to watch movies. I simply… don’t want to watch them. I am fine with this. As such, if you ask me “have you seen [insert movie name here] yet?” the answer will almost definitely be “no.” You can also drop the “yet” because I’m probably not going to see it at all. So there.

I am grumpy. Now I am going to bed.

BALLS.